


The Bandaid King

by babybloo



Series: Nurtureverse [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Accidents, Adult Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Character Study, Characters Watching Disney Movies, Diapers, Disney Movies, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Issues, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Pacifiers, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Richie Tozier Has ADHD, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Good Significant Other, Wetting, Whump, caregiver!Richie, little!Eddie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29656086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybloo/pseuds/babybloo
Summary: As a little kid, Richie Tozier reigned as The Bandaid King. Every problem could be fixed with a simple bandaid. He lived carelessly, and that never changed as an adult.As a little adult, Eddie Kaspbrak was reigned by fear. No problem could be fixed with a simple bandaid. He lived carefully, and that never changed as an adult.As adults, the two men continue to explore a newly-developed age regression dynamic, with Eddie regressing and Richie being his caregiver.When a regressed Eddie falls on the driveway, Richie realizes that Eddie has never solved a problem with a bandaid. And while teaching Eddie he can put a bandaid on his scrapes, Richie copes with not being able to put one on Eddie's trauma.Throughout their sweet age regression activities, Richie tries making Eddie go from careful to carefree. Though seemingly impossible, there is perhaps a way to do so. A way which, in turn, will make Richie go from careless to caregiving.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Nurtureverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179215
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The age regression in this story is completely non-sexual. It is being used as a coping mechanism, NOT a kink. So, if you're looking for a kink story, you are not going to find it here.
> 
> This book is a sequel to another one of mine, To Accustom To Nurture. You can read and understand this book without having to read the previous one, but I would recommend doing so anyways. 
> 
> To Accustom To Nurture: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24514393/chapters/59181631
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy The Bandaid King! :)

Richie Tozier remembers spending his childhood as the proud Bandaid King. 

He’s still getting used to remembering anything from his childhood. Memories come back to him in succession. But he is quick to remember those of being the Bandaid King. 

If asked, he’d say he deemed himself worthy as such when he fell on the pavement of his driveway. For bare knees, there is no greater nemesis than rough, rocky pavement. The nemesis attacked Richie when he was five. After scolding him for running on the driveway, his mom and dad carried him back in the house, cleaned up his knees, and plastered them with bandaids. 

That was it. The nemesis had been defeated with a couple of measly bandaids. Within five minutes, Richie was back outside playing as if nothing had happened. The only difference was that now, he ran on the grass. Then it was on to the next stupid mistake, cry, bandaid, repeat. 

It took quite a few repetitions of that cycle for him to officially receive the title of Bandaid King, though. He didn’t get crowned until age twelve, when he fell off his bicycle and rolled down the hill in the Derry backwoods. 

“I’ve run out of Looney Toons ones,” his friend Eddie Kaspbrak muttered, pulling bandaid after bandaid out of his fanny pack, “You’ve used them all up. You’re, like, the bandaid king or something.” 

“The Bandaid King...I like the sound of that. Richie Tozier, the Bandaid King of Richieland!” Richie smirked, raising his chin with pride, “I always knew I was destined to be a royal!”

“Yeah, a royal pain in the ass. Now hold still.” Eddie planted bandaids all over Richie’s cuts. Everytime he thought he was done, Richie somehow found a new one that needed tending to. Woe was Richie, having to deal with Eddie putting his soft hands all over him. 

“Richie, why do you need a bandaid on your dick? I saw you fall and you definitely did not fall on your dick!” 

“Because, Eddie, my dick’s still aching from last night. Your mom likes it rough, y’know.” Richie laughed until Eddie raised a fist, “Goddamn Eds! It was just a dumb joke!” He swatted Eddie’s hand away.

“I swear Rich, all you ever do is tell dumb jokes, like some sort of immature little kid…” Eddie huffed, pursing his lips which threatened to curl up into a smile, “You’ve gotta stop acting like a little kid.”

“You’ve gotta stop acting like a little adult!” Richie shot back, “You’ve always got a stick up your ass, Eds! That can’t be comfy!” 

“Well maybe I’m fine not being comfy!” Eddie pulled him up with a grunt, “You’d better tell your mom to put something else on those when you get home. You hear me, Rich? You’d better. Unless you wanna get sepsis, impetigo, abscess, HIV, take your pick. Bandaids aren’t enough to-”

“Yeah they are!” Richie sprung up to his feet, “As the Bandaid King of Richieland, I hereby declare you must respect the honor of bandaids! I shall enforce this law until I am relieved of the bandaid throne!”

Eventually Richie was, indeed, relieved of the bandaid throne. A potato-chip crusted couch became his new throne. His royal duties included doing stand-up and filming and fan meet-ups and whatever else before retreating to his throne. As he sat on his throne, he’d watch himself on television or read People Magazine for articles like “Comedy King Richie Tozier is once again #1 on our list of worst dressed celebrities at the Emmy Awards.” Then he’d try to convince himself that the job, the celebrity, the wealth, was all enough. 

But he couldn’t. Because it wasn’t.

All he’d end up doing was stewing over whether or not he was selfish. He had so much, what more was there for the taking? Well, Richie didn’t want to take. He wanted to give. He already gave laughter and entertainment, sure, but that’s the shallowest layer. Richie knew he had so much more to give. But the Comedy King didn’t have to give much more. 

Being the Comedy King was no different from being the Bandaid King. Kings nowadays don’t rule shit; they just sit on thrones and pose for fancy photos and wave to all their subjects. Their countries would run just fine without them, that’s how insignificant those kings are. His fall on the driveway, his television appearances, his paparazzi photos, his Emmy award, that stupid “Worst Dressed Celebrities” list, they were all insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

In that way, he never really stopped being a little kid. His fellow celebrities went home to husbands and wives and cute little babies. They became partners, parents, dispensers of love. Richie went home to a potato chip crusted couch. And Richie stayed a king.

It was Eddie’s idea to get rid of that potato chip crusted couch. On the day Eddie moved in with him, Richie put it on their front lawn with a sign that said “Free couch- only peed on twice.” Eddie insisted it was not funny in between laughs and wheezes. And just like that, Richie was already planning a marriage proposal in his head. 

Another one of Eddie’s ideas, age regression, brings them back to the front lawn this morning. After a nice talk the previous day, the couple has agreed to try age regressing for the entire weekend. So far, it’s been fine. Richie dressed Eddie in a pastel rainbow striped shirt with yellow shorts and Gucci slides, fed him breakfast, and brought him outside to play. Eddie didn’t really say anything until they got outside, asking Richie for some apple juice. 

Richie gently hums to himself as he pours some apple juice into Eddie’s Disney Princess sippy cup. The day so far has been uneventful for Richie, but as long as Eddie stays in his headspace, he can’t care less. He’s fine just watching Eddie play and filling his sippy cup. Perhaps an uneventful day is what Eddie needs. 

Unfortunately, the driveway doesn’t care about what Eddie needs. 

The piercing scream travels through the open front door, down the vestibule, and into the kitchen. It’s a scream Richie has only heard in the house of Neibolt, never in this house. As soon as it hits Richie’s ears, the apple juice is long forgotten. He sprints after the scream with some of his own, “EDDIE! EDDIE BABY!” Getting closer to the front yard, Richie hears some sobs and shrieks. He tries to run even faster, as if to match the speed of sound. This painful, terrifying sound. 

With a rapidly pumping heart, Richie finally makes it outside. One quick glance, and that pumping heart shatters into a million pieces. He can deduce exactly what happened seeing Eddie on his hands and knees atop the sidewalk with toes curled against his slides. Adrenaline kicks in and a spent Richie is by Eddie’s side in less than a second. 

Richie drops himself down to his own knees, “Oh Eddie…” He places a hand under Eddie’s chin and tilts his head up. His face is bright red with cheeks streaked by thick tears falling from sparkling dilated eyes. The regressed man whimpers through a quivering lip, staring into Richie’s eyes like his life depends on it. 

“Hey there…” Despite knowing exactly what happened, Richie still asks, “Did you fall on the driveway, Honey? Did the mean slides trip your feet?” Eddie nods and whines. He reaches for Richie’s hand and hugs it to his chest. 

Richie’s heart melts into goo, “Aww, Bubba…” He gently taps Eddie’s chest with his fingertips, “Can I see your hands real quick? I’ll keep my hand right here, I promise. I just gotta do a boo boo check.”

Eddie cautiously lifts his hands and hovers them above Richie’s. Once he sees that Richie is not moving his hand, he puts his own out for Richie to see. 

“Thank you,” Richie whispers. He tries staying calm to not rile Eddie up, but can’t help his wince at the sight. Red, bloody patches disperse throughout Eddie’s soft little palms. His slim knees aren’t too different.

Richie takes a deep breath, “Can I touch your hands and knees?” Eddie nods again, still sobbing and whimpering. Richie gently brushes his finger atop one of Eddie’s hand scrapes. When Eddie doesn’t flinch, he presses his thumb against it to apply pressure. He switches his gaze between Eddie’s face and shoulders to look for any signs of pain. The regressed man continues to cry, but his posture and expression don’t change. Richie tests his knees, and still nothing. 

Looking Eddie up and down, Richie doesn’t see scrunched eyes or a locked jaw. He does, however, see little tremors in every inch of the man’s slender figure. He places a still hand under Eddie’s, feeling it shake like a leaf being tossed around by an autumn breeze. 

“That fall really scared you more than anything, huh Bubba?”

The regressed man curls both of his trembling hands around Richie’s hand on his chest. He moves his hands up Richie’s arm, pulling Richie closer to him. 

“I gotcha,” Richie scoops him up into a bridal carry. He looks into Eddie’s eyes, his beautiful browns, and offers him a warm smile to contrast his frigid frown. “This better?” 

Eddie whines and nuzzles his cheek against Richie’s chest. Richie takes that as a yes. 

“I...fell…”

“Hmm?” Richie begins carrying Eddie into their house. 

“I fell,” Eddie repeats, this time with less hesitation. 

Great observation, Mr. Holmes, Richie would reply to literally anyone else. But to little Eddie, he says, “I’m sorry that happened, Sweetie. Did the fall scare you?”

Eddie’s teeth nip his plump, velvety lip. Nibbling it slightly, he hisses through his teeth, “Scared.” 

“Poor baby…” Richie coos. He plants a kiss on Eddie’s lips, knowing that he can and will bite them hard enough to bleed. His feet slide to a standstill every time Eddie’s teeth graze his lips. Pressing kisses to his baby’s lips is certainly the most fun solution for the biting problem. But five stops and kisses later, Richie realizes it's not the most practical. 

Before going to the master bathroom, Richie makes a detour to the hall closet. He opens it up, revealing all the age regression items he has collected for Eddie. Richie snatches a rosey pink pacifier and pops it between his teeth and lips. Eddie gasps and opens his mouth. His widened, sparkling eyes gaze up to Richie for an explanation. 

Richie gently draws the pacifier out of Eddie’s mouth. He holds it up to his eyes, “Paci.” 

“Pa-ci…” Eddie parrots, sounding out each syllable. 

“That’s right, paci,” Richie croons, this time slowly guiding it into Eddie’s mouth. 

Eddie parts his lips to accept it. He swirls his tongue experimentally around the silicone before closing his eyes and suckling. His sweet lips are finally freed from his teeth, which now hold the pacifier in place. Richie continues making his way towards the master bathroom, this time not making a single stop until they arrive. 

After running a hand across the vanity top to ensure it’s dry, Richie sits Eddie upon it, “Sit tight Baby, the doc is in the house.” 

Richie bends down to grab rubbing alcohol and bandaids from the cabinet under the sink, “What, you ain’t gonna gimme a ‘What’s up Doc?’” 

Eddie simply whimpers in response. Richie clicks his tongue and puts the items on the vanity top, “Got it, less talking more doctoring.” 

Eddie rests his chin on his right shoulder to glance down at the two items Richie put down. He looks back up at Richie and cocks his head to one side. 

“Yeah, yeah, I ain’t no Dr. Oz, but I’ll try my best! Hell...erm...heck, I’ll give ya Dr. Oz!” Richie grasps the bottle of rubbing alcohol and begins to unscrew the cap, “Welcome back! Welcome back to the Dr. Oz show!” He announces in his very best impression, placing the cap right beside the box of bandaids, “I want to correct something I said on the last segment about home remedies — I meant to say ‘vinegar and water douche,’ not ‘vinegar and oil.’ That would be bad, ladies and gentlemen.”

Eddie jumps down from the counter, throwing himself against Richie in the process. Richie jerks his wrist with a yelp. Rubbing alcohol spills out of the bottle and onto the floor. Eddie tilts his chin down and toys with the handle of his pacifier, “‘M sorry…”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t worry about it!” Richie sets the bottle back on the vanity top and ruffles Eddie’s hair, “It’s all good! I’ll mop that right up then we can get back to The Dr. Tozier Show!” He waits until Eddie perks up, kisses his cheek, then turns to grab a towel off the shelf. 

Richie only turns his back for a second. The shelf isn’t too far from the sink. But apparently it’s far away enough for Eddie to sit down and pull the cabinet open.

“Eddie! When you’d get there?” Richie giggles as he drops the towel over the puddle. “You wanna be Dr. Oz, too?”

All Richie hears in response is some rattling and thuds. Richie bends down and rests his arm on his knee. He watches Eddie’s hands explore the cabinet, grabbing and knocking items all around.

“C’mon Honey, let’s go,” Richie places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder blade. “There’s nothing for you to play with here.” 

Eddie sharply turns around and stares blankly into Richie’s eyes. One second later, he’s yanking little orange bottles out of the cabinet. He thrusts them into Richie’s arms, “Here!”

Richie furrows his eyebrows and shifts the contents in his arms, “These don’t need to be out, Bubs. We don’t need them.” 

He puts the bottles back, but Eddie snatches another and shoves it towards him with a whine, “Need them!” His pacifier drops from his mouth onto the porcelain tile bellow. 

“You don’t need my Vyvanse, Eddie.” Richie tosses it back in, “Now, come here and leave this stuff alone.” 

“Need them!” Eddie insists, this time grabbing a roll of gauze. He yanks the gauze off the roll and frantically wraps it around his hand.

“Eddie no!” Richie lunges forward and seizes the roll. Eddie grips it until his knuckles turn white, but Richie tears it away with one quick tug. He tosses the gauze into the cabinet and holds it closed with his foot, “I’m gonna put bandaids on you, you don’t need gauze!”

Eddie shrieks and shakes his head, tears welling up all over again, “Don’t wan’ ‘em! Don’t wan’ ban’aids! No ban’aids!” 

“No bandaids?” 

“No ban’aids!” Eddie grips Richie’s ankle and attempts to shove his foot away. 

Richie, however, keeps it in place with a scowl. “Eddie, please, literally every kid wears-” 

Richie cuts himself off before he can say ‘-bandaids and they are perfectly fine.’ He shuts his mouth to swallow these words. 

He has seen Eddie get hurt quite a few times when they were young. Eddie’s gotten the same cuts and scrapes that earned Richie the Bandaid King title. Richie explores the archives of recovered childhood memories to find the proper successor, a memory of those cuts being plastered with bandaids. 

But the exploration is futile; this memory can’t be recovered. Nor has it been forgotten. It simply never existed. 

Eddie never wore bandaids. 

Eddie never got to be the Bandaid King.

Eddie carried bandaids around, sure, but only to stick on his friends. When someone got hurt, Eddie took care of them. When he got hurt, his mom took care of him. 

Well, “took care of” may be an understatement. Or an overstatement, depending on one’s perspective.

When he dared to bring any injury upon his fragile vessel, Eddie would receive only the most top-notch medical treatment. Perhaps a little too top-notch. Most people would not consider bedrest and a tourniquet the proper cure for a scrape. And neither would Sonia Kaspbrak. Her poor precious prince also requires painkillers and antibiotics with labels that won’t be studied long enough to read. Then maybe, just maybe, the cut won’t get infected and Eddie won’t develop sepsis, impetigo, abscess, HIV, take your pick. 

Richie practically jumps onto a screaming Eddie with his arms wide open. He wraps his arms around his husband and pulls him into a tight bear hug. Eddie melts into Richie’s arms immediately, but continues to sob and shout with all his might. 

Despite having never taken care of an actual baby, Richie knows that they can be inconsolable. He’s heard babies scream and cry in enough public locations to drill this knowledge through his ringing ears into his pounding head. 

This time though, the noise is the last thing on Richie’s mind. He hates hearing a baby screech, but Eddie isn’t a baby. Eddie is his baby. 

Knowing that babies can be inconsolable, Richie accepts that he can’t do much. The most he can do is hold Eddie in his arms and rub his back until his poor little lungs can’t take it anymore. So that’s exactly what he does. 

Just as Richie suspected, Eddie’s cries couldn’t prolong indefinitely. As Eddie sinks further and further into Richie’s chest, his screams lower down to whimpers. The tears slow and streak his red face. He finally tilts his head up from Richie’s chest to reveal his result of an ugly cry. But to Richie, there’s nothing farther from ugly than his baby in any state. 

His thumb runs across Eddie’s cheeks with a smile, “You feeling better, Baby Boy?”

Eddie nods and lifts his hands up to touch Richie’s face. His head locks in place, though, when he catches a glimpse of these hands. He hisses and flops his hands back down on his lap. 

Richie sighs, reaching for Eddie’s hands. He places his hands atop his scraped palms and lifts them up, “Baby...I’m gonna clean up your cuts and put bandaids on them. That’s it. Then, we’re gonna go play outside as if nothing had happened.” 

Eddie’s lip already starts quivering, causing Richie to tense up. He lets go of Eddie’s hands, which then wander down to Eddie’s shirt. Eddie pulls his shirt up ever so slightly to squeeze at the hem. This reveals the tiny tail of a pink strip. Richie’s eyes bounce back and forth between the hand at the hem and the exposed mark. 

“Hey, Eddie....” Richie murmurs. 

Eddie hums and looks up immediately. 

Richie’s hand lightly grazes the back of his neck, “Could you please pull up your shirt for me? So I can see your chest?” 

With a curt nod, Eddie does as he is requested. The pair train their eyes on the scar, marking Eddie’s chest down to his naval. Eddie runs his finger up the length of the scar with a tiny coo.

“Can I touch your chest?” Richie asks in a hush. Eddie hums and nods again, so Richie reaches to rest his hand upon the scar, “Did it hurt? When you got this scar?” 

Eddie places his hand atop Richie’s, “Mhm.” 

“I can imagine.” Richie intertwines his fingers with Eddie’s, then asks his big question, “Which hurt more, your chest when you got the scar, or your hands and knees when you fell?” 

Sans hesitation, Eddie lifts his free hand and taps the top of his scar. Richie purses his lips, “You had to go to the hospital for that. They had to...umm...do a bunch of things to make it all better. Use big bandages and pills and all that...which did you say hurt more again?”

Eddie points to his scar again. Richie nods, “Yeah...you know, if your drivewalk scrapes aren’t as bad as your chest, then why would we treat them like they are? Wouldn’t it make more sense to save all those supplies for something like your chest?”

“Infected…”

Richie switches his gaze from Eddie’s scar to his lips, “Hmm?”

“Gonna get infected...infected and sick…” Eddie whispers. His teeth chomp down on his bottom lip, “...die.”

It’s that last word that finally builds tears in Richie’s eyes.

“Eddie…” Richie takes his glasses off as they begin to fog. He wipes them on his shirt, the thickening tears further blurring his vision, “Can I tell you a story?”

“Yes,” Eddie murmurs. He places a hand on Richie’s knee, to ensure he knows he’s still there. 

“When I was little, not as little as you are now, but still pretty small, I fell on my driveway too. My hands and knees got all red and scraped just like yours. I thought it was the worst thing in the world. Then, I went inside and got some rubbing alcohol and bandaids. Nothing else, just slapped on a couple of bandaids and went back to playing. And you know what happened after that?”

“What?”

“I don’t remember.” 

Despite his glasses being on his lap, Richie can pretty much see Eddie’s face of utter confusion. He continues, “I don’t remember, because it wasn’t important. I didn’t get infected, I didn’t get sick, and unfortunately for the rest of the world, I didn’t die. I know we’re all still getting used to remembering things, but I’d remember something important like that by now, yes?”

“Yes.” 

“So it couldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.”

Richie feels a finger graze his cheek and flick away his tears, making him smile. 

“You know this is not the worst thing in the world. The worst thing in the world’s done, It already happened to you. And you didn’t die from It. If you can survive...that...you can survive a couple of scraped knees. You’re so brave Eddie, you’re the bravest person I know."

“Really?”

“Really.”

Richie wipes away his slowing tears and puts his glasses on. 

He can finally see Eddie clearly, who extends a shaky arm, “Hug?”

Richie lifts Eddie onto his lap and wraps his arms around him, “You wanna know what the best thing in the world is?”

“What?” Eddie swirls his finger around one of the buttons on Richie’s shirt. 

“You.”

Eddie’s squishy cheeks darken into a soft pink hue. He lightly titters and grips Richie’s shirt, pushing his face into his chest, “Eeep!” 

Richie squeals, “Dangit Eddie, stop being cute! You’re gonna make me cry again!” He buries his hand in Eddie’s hair and smoothes it with a sigh, “You’ve suffered so much Eddie, I wanna protect you from everything. But getting protected from everything is why I think you suffered. You’re so brave, Eddie Baby. You’re so brave, and strong, and resilient, and capable, but all this protection’s made you forget that.”

“Fo’get?” Eddie pulls his face away from Richie’s chest and looks him in the eyes.

“Yeah, forget.” Richie sighs, “It’s easy to believe you need an aspirator to breathe if you’re being suffocated by gauze, y’know?”

Richie’s eyes concentrate on Eddie’s, searching for any sign of an obvious emotion. But atop the glaze that appears every time he regresses, Eddie’s eyes are glazed over with a second layer. His mouth stretches out into a perfectly straight line segment. 

So Richie simply continues, “I’m gonna put bandaids on you. We’re gonna wait an hour or so, and see how you feel. Whatever you need you’ll get. But now, all you need is to breathe. Here Baby Boy, copy me.” 

Richie prolongs his inhale so Eddie has time to latch on. Luckily for Richie’s aging lungs, Eddie baits his breath in sync with him The two exhale, and Richie watches Eddie’s eyes begin to sparkle once again. 

“Uppy?” Eddie squeaks out. He points up towards the vanity top, where the rubbing alcohol and bandaids sit. 

“Yep!” Richie jumps to his feet and lifts Eddie onto said vanity top, “Alright, I’m gonna clean you up with the rubbing alcohol. It’s gonna sting a little.” He gently lifts up one of Eddie’s palms, “Can I start?”

Eddie nods, “Start, please.” Richie does just that. Eddie hisses the second the cotton ball touches his palm. 

“Shhhhh,” Richie dabs Eddie’s palm, “It’s okay Baby, it’s okay.” 

“‘S okay…” Eddie repeats. With a keen eye, Richie can spot the slightest tracings of a smile. He cleans Eddie’s scrapes up quickly yet meticulously. After declaring Eddie’s scrapes clean, Richie applies the bandaids. Each and every bandaid is placed with great care, covering each and every millimeter of each and every cut. Atop each bandaid, Richie plants a soft kiss. 

Eddie squirms and lightly kicks his legs, “All done?” 

“All done!” Richie swipes Eddie right off the vanity top, “Now we can go back to playing outside!” 

As if nothing had happened. The nemesis has been defeated, after all, with a couple of measly bandaids. Then it will be on to the next stupid mistake, cry, bandaid, repeat. 

Or so Richie thinks. Eddie wriggles in Richie’s grasp and lets out a high pitched whine. 

“No!”


	2. Part 2

Richie’s feet glide across the floor to a screeching halt. He places Eddie on his hip to get a better look at his face. Eddie’s eyes are large and dilated. Pearly white teeth chew on his lips, but said lips do not tremble. 

“No?” 

“No.” Eddie pinches the collar of Richie’s shirt, “Wanna stay inside?” 

“Eddie-” Richie starts, but Eddie is quick to cut him off.

“Inside! Inside, please!” 

Richie opens his mouth to start again, then takes a turn biting his lip. He may have seen Eddie get hurt as a kid, but then he wouldn’t see Eddie again for the next few days. Sometimes it even took a week for Eddie to be allowed outside, where he’d brag about the two whole movies his mom let him watch, and the additional one or two he managed to sneak while she was napping. 

“Alright, we can stay inside for a while.” 

“Yay! Inside!” Eddie squeals, making his caregiver chuckle heartily. He throws his hands up and slings them around the back of Richie’s neck, “Movies?”

“Yes,” Richie blurts out almost immediately with wide eyes, “Yes! Yes! As many movies as you want!” 

He leans in to kiss Eddie, and feels hard enamel push back against his lips. Pulling back to see Eddie still chewing on his lips, Richie scans each floor tile before stopping on one. 

“Hold on,” Richie hums. He leans down to his side and scoops up the discarded pink pacifier, “We almost forgot about your paci! Poor Paci, all sad and alone…” He holds the pacifier up to Eddie’s eyes and shakes it, letting out a dramatic sob with each shake. 

Eddie grins and rests his head on Richie’s shoulder, training his eyes on the pacifier. He studies it as Richie rinses it in the sink, then opens his mouth to accept it when the tap is shut. 

Richie slips the pacifier between Eddie’s lips and presses a kiss atop it. He places his newly freed hand on Eddie’s rear, hoisting him up further. Eddie sighs happily and relaxes in Richie’s arms. 

The comedian can’t help but pat his baby’s perky bottom, wrapped in a puffy diaper rhythmically crinkling against every touch. His palm detects moisture, curling Richie’s mouth into a smirk, “Oh! I think it’s time for a diaper change!” 

Against Eddie’s sudden squirming, Richie lowers him down, flips him around, and pulls back the waistband of his diaper to check it. He peaks inside, confirming his suspicion, “Yep! That’s a wet diaper if I’ve ever seen one!”

Eddie lets out a little squeak, a bright pink hue engulfing his soft cheeks. Richie lifts the blushing baby back up into his arms, drawing him up to his face. When Eddie’s eyes dart away from Richie’s, his smirk softens into a warm smile, “You feeling alright, Eddie?”

He nods weakly in response, then keeps his head hung down, “‘M sorry…”

“Aww, Eddie, no! Don’t be sorry!” Richie clicks his tongue with a shake of his head. He shifts Eddie to a bridal carry and strolls out of the bathroom, “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re a baby, and babies have accidents. It’s as simple as that!”

“No...” Eddie murmurs through the pacifier, his pink cheeks darkening to red. He drops his hands down from Richie’s neck, looking down at his hands, “Not ‘n accident.”

By then, Richie is lowering Eddie down onto the bed. As soon as the statement is made, Eddie’s body slips through Richie’s fingers. For once, the Trashmouth can’t think of anything to say. No clever quips here, just a befuddled “Not an accident?” 

“Mmm…” Eddie pushes the pacifier aside with his tongue, “...kinda...sorta...” 

“So was it on purpose?” Richie spreads the changing pad across the bed, trying his best to act casually. But all he can think of is Eddie being oh-so particular and private with his restroom habits. He’d never use a urinal, let alone a diaper, on purpose. Not even kinda-sorta on purpose. 

“Dunno...you made me comfy…’m sorry…”

“No!” Richie gasps, “Don’t be!”

He practically flings all the other supplies across the bed to free his hands as soon as possible. The “whys” and “hows” slide to the back of Richie’s head.

He frantically pats the changing pad, “You see this? This is...umm…”

Richie rocks on his toes, then suddenly bounces, “Richieland! Yes! This is Richieland. You’re in the Pacific Ocean right about now, so unless you come to my island you’re gonna drown.” He quickly gestures to the blue bedspread, then back to the pad atop it, “C’mon Baby, get yourself on dry land!” 

For this level of silliness, Richie would usually resort to a silly voice. But for once, he forgoes all the forgein accents and character impersonations he could be doing. Richie knows Eddie needs to hear this from his own voice. 

Eddie wriggles himself onto the changing pad, giggling a little bit. Richie grabs a pillow and slips it under Eddie’s head to make him comfortable. He claps his hands together, “You are now on Richieland soil, Little One, which means all the laws and regulations of Richieland apply to you. Do you wanna hear the laws?”

“Mhm,” Eddie mumbles through his pacifier. He keeps his hands close by his sides, to ensure they do not wander into the Pacific Ocean. 

Richie begins inching off Eddie’s shorts, “First we have the...erm...Apology Restriction Clause. Yeah, that’s right. Being sorry for innocent, harmless things such as wetting your diaper is strictly forbidden. We here at Richieland would never hold these types of things against our citizens. Therefore, they mustn't feel sorry for them.” 

He places the shorts to the side and looks at his baby. Eddie’s eyes are fixated on Richie, in the grip of every one of his movements, glittering in anticipation for the next movement of his mouth. 

Smiling, Richie tears the tapes of Eddie’s wet diaper and continues, “Our next policy is a very important one, so listen closely. We here at Richieland do not discriminate. As you can see, we are founded upon the pad of diaper changes. Therefore, any changes that you need, you will get. Whether it was an accident, or on purpose, or kinda-sorta both, it does not matter.” Richie guides Eddie’s knees to his chest and pulls the wet diaper away. He pulls out a wet wipe, which he had warmed up for Eddie’s comfort, and begins to gingerly dab him clean, “Taking care of your needs, whatever they are for whatever reason, shall be done.” 

As he wraps the wipes in the old diaper, Richie takes a glance at Eddie’s face. 

Eddie is smiling. 

Richie’s seen Eddie smile so many types of smiles. Joyful smiles, exhilarated smiles, forlorn smiles, sorrowful smiles, Richie has seen them all. But Richie has never seen Eddie smile like he is right now. He’s never seen anyone smile like this before. It’s a pure, innocent, trusting smile, a smile of someone who is being cared for. 

It’s almost like a baby’s smile. 

Eddie gurgles and wiggles around the changing pad, still keeping his eyes on Richie. As if to ensure that Richie knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the smile is for him.

“You’re gonna follow the laws of the land, yeah?” Richie mumbles with his eyes on Eddie, wanting to capture each and every second of that beautiful smile in a mental video to replay over and over again. He drops the used diaper into a plastic bag, and unscrews the container of baby powder. 

Eddie squeals as Richie shakes the baby powder, “Yes, Daddy!” 

If Richie’s heart is already melted into goo, then those two words dissolve it into the atmosphere. There it is, the title that is only granted to caregivers, by the babies who accept their care. His sweet little Eddie selected that title for him, selected him for that title. 

“Daddy loves you,” Richie whispers, his cheeks growing sore from smiling so widely as he fluffs a fresh diaper. He slips it under Eddie, then secures it. Shorts are slipped back on, and Richie gives Eddie a pat on his front, “All done, Baby Boy.”

Eddie sits up and launches himself into RIchie’s arms. He wraps his arms around the larger man and squeezes him with all his might, gripping the back of his shirt. His forehead nuzzles against Richie’s shoulder blade with a soft sigh, “Thank you, Daddy.”

Richie lifts Eddie up and grips him with equal vigor. He lets his fingertips gently dance along the boy’s back, gliding across the warm, satiny skin. Quieting his own breathing to hear Eddie’s, Richie answers with a nearly inaudible response, “You’re welcome, Baby.” 

When Eddie begins to squirm, Richie lays him back down on the changing pad. “Alright Bubba, I’m gonna go throw out the trash and wash my hands. You okay staying here by yourself?” 

A smile peaks out from either side of Eddie’s pacifier, “Yep!”

“Good.” Richie strolls off, not letting himself look back. Even then, he can’t help but create scenarios in his head. Eddie peeling the bandaids off, Eddie running into the bathroom for medical supplies, Eddie sobbing and shaking and screaming again...by the time Richie is drying his hands off, his wet fingers shake against the towel. He drops it by the sink and treads lightly towards the bedroom. 

“Eddie…” He cracks the door open every so slightly. 

“Daddy!” Eddie stretches the finally vowel out with a little squeal.

“Eddie!” Richie swings the door all the way open and sure enough, there’s Eddie still on the changing mat. Getting closer, Richie spots his bandaids still in place. On his knees, at least. Richie can’t see Eddie’s palms, as they are covered by a swath of pink fur. 

“Look!” Eddie holds up the plush pink bunny, “Silky!” He hugs the stuffed animal to his chest with a hum. 

Richie chuckles softly, “Will ya look at that!” He slips Eddie’s shirt up and lightly tickles his bare tummy, “You found Miss Silky!” 

“Mhm! In bed!” Eddie points to the pillows and kicks his legs, “There!” He snickers through a smirk filled with pride. 

“I see,” Richie lightly tickles Eddie’s tummy, “Because you slept with her last night. I bet she missed your cuddles all morning.” He leans over Eddie to grasp the pink fuzzy blanket under the pillows, “So did Blankie!” 

“Blankie!” Eddie swipes it from Richie and wraps it around Silky. 

“Alrightie! The gang’s back together again!” Richie rests his hands on Eddie’s sides, “You ready to watch some movies?”

“Mhm…” Eddie gives Richie a nod, but shifts around on the changing pad, “Miss Richieland.” 

“Miss Richieland?” Richie raises an eyebrow, then gasps, “Oh! Are you gonna miss Richieland?”

Eddie nods frantically, “I like Richieland. ‘S nice.” 

“Yeah…” Richie softly murmurs. His eyes crinkle as his mouth curls up his cheeks, “Well...there’s a third law of the land I forgot to tell you. As long as you’re with Richie, you’re in Richieland.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, “Really?”

“Really.” Richie grips Eddie tighter and lifts him up into his arms, “So you’re still in Richieland!” 

“Richieland!” Eddie squeals, swinging Silky by her ears. 

“That’s right!” Richie carries him out of the bedroom, “This means the laws of the land still apply to you!” 

“Okay!” Eddie croons and reaches for Richie’s hair, “More laws?” 

Richie tilts his head down to give Eddie access to his hair. As Eddie runs his fingers through it, he nips the inside of his cheek with a hum. He hadn’t really thought past the two laws he created to console Eddie; the third one was created on a whim. Then again, he supposes that three laws won’t suffice for a viable, long-lasting civilization. 

“Alright, another law…” Richie closes his eyes when a hand wanders down to his cheek. The smooth latex of the bandaids graze against his skin. 

“Law Four: Respect the honor of Bandaids. They shall be revered and loved for all the contributions they make for our society.”

“M’kay…” Eddie lays his head on Richie’s shoulder. Once they arrive at the living room, Eddie immediately squirms out of Richie’s arms and flops down onto the navy Victorian couch. Richie chuckles at the all-too-familiar sight; even in his headspace Eddie loves this kitschy piece of furniture. He picked it out insisting that their redecorated living room needed it, and Richie can’t say they haven’t gotten their money’s worth. 

Richie sits down next to him and immediately pulls him to his side. He lays the blanket across both of their laps as Eddie snuggles into his side, “Alright Eddie, what movie do you see watch first?”

Of course, the first movies that Eddie wants to see are Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and Inside Out. Both movies that Richie provided voices for. Richie had seen these movies countless times, each viewing experience more tedious than the last. The movies are fun, sure, but meatballs and memory orbs can only fall so many times before becoming repetitive. 

Then again, he’s never watched these movies with little Eddie. The dialogue Richie can almost recite beat for beat is interspersed with little utterances of “It’s you!” or “That’s daddy!” Occasionally he’d mix it up with a slightly longer phrase, one in question form, “That’s you, right?” Richie would confirm, and a breathy “Woah…” would follow. 

Richie would call this his best movie viewing experience. If he was actually watching the movies, that is. He can’t help it; there’s no way he could watch the screen with Eddie marveling at the screen right beside him. There’s no way he could risk missing the flicker of Eddie’s eyes when Richie’s voice comes out of a silly cartoon character. 

Inside Out ends a few minutes earlier than usual, as Richie skipped the Jangles the Clown scenes. When it’s over, Richie tightens his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, pulling him closer, “Alright Baby, what movie do you wanna watch now?”

Eddie doesn’t even hesitate for a single second before blurting out “Cinderella!” 

“Cinderella what?” Richie teases, “What’s the magic word?” He tousles Eddie’s hair as he waits for an innocent “please.”

Eddie yanks his head away and smooths down his hair. His mouth curls up into a smirk, pushing his eyes into a mischievous squint. In the tiniest, squeakiest little baby voice he can muster, Eddie makes complete eye contact with Richie, “Cinderella fucked your mother.”

Richie’s jaw drops to his lap, “Oh my god!” Despite his horrified facial expression, Richie is laughing to the point of screaming. He doubles over and wheezes from the depths of his throat, “Eddie...no…” 

“Eddie yes!” Eddie shoots back. He bounces in his seat and claps his hands, “Magic words! Said magic words!” 

“No you did not!” Richie takes a deep breath, still shaking, “Phew...okay…” 

Richie can’t really blame Eddie too much; he made this “I fucked your mother” catchphrase bed, and how he’s gotta lay in it. Perhaps Richie’s fans would dub these as magic words, but there’s no way he’ll let his baby do the same.

“First of all, I asked for a magic word. Singular. You gave me, like, three words.” He grabs Eddie’s shoulders and sits him still, “And those words ain’t even magical! If anything they’re the type of magic that’d get you burned in Salem. They’re not accurate either. I’m the token gay of my family, thank you very much.”

Eddie blinks his eyes rapidly, softening them. He looks up at Richie with his very best puppy dog eyes, “I’m sowwy.” 

The pronunciation of the letter “r” as a “w” makes Richie visibly swoon. He sighs heavily, “Alright Pottymouth, you’re lucky you’re cute. I’ll let you off the hook this time. But if you say another bad word, you’ll be sentenced to a time out.” He lifts Silky up, “Silky, will you have enough money to pay Eddie’s bail?” Richie moves Silky’s head side to side, “No? Well then, Ma’am, you’ll be tried as an accomplice.” 

“Gimmie!” Eddie shrieks, yanking Silky out of Richie’s grip. He pouts at Richie, “Put the movie.” 

“‘Put the movie’ what?” Richie gives Eddie a side eye. He raises an eyebrow at his baby, giving him the very best strict Daddy look he can muster. 

Eddie’s eyes widen and he shrinks in his seat, “Put the movie please.”

“There we go! Good boy!” Richie scrolls through Disney Plus until he finds Cinderella. 

As the opening credits play, Eddie gently tugs Richie’s shirt, “Juice, please?”

“Sure, Baby.” Richie smiles softly and stands up, “Thank you-” He taps Eddie’s nose, making him squeal, “-for saying please. I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

Getting the pre-filled sippy of apple juice doesn’t even take a jiffy. Half a jiffy at most, Richie would assume. But in that half a jiffy, Eddie has managed to grab all the pillows on their fancy living room couch and pile them up with Silky on top. Eddie pats the stack beside him with a massive grin, “Surprise!” 

“Yowza!” Richie chuckles softly, “That’s a lot of pillows!” He smirks slightly and places his hands on his hips, “Are you gonna share any of them with me?” 

Eddie nods and pats the pile harder, “Mhm! Made it for you!”

With that, Richie’s smirk dissolves and parts slightly, “Aww, Baby, you’re too sweet! I swear, you and my gut are racing to see who gives me diabetes first.”

“Juice?” Eddie stretches his arms out for his sippy cup. 

“Yep! Here ya go!” Richie hands it to him, “Drink it up Eds, it’ll wash out your potty mouth.”

Eddie crosses his arms with a pout, “No call me Eds.” 

“Alright, whatever you say, Eds,” Richie plops himself down on the couch. 

“Stop!” Eddie clamps a hand on Richie’s mouth, then turns back to the movie with his hand in place. As Cinderella softly croons “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes,” Richie licks Eddie’s palm. A chill goes up his spine when his tongue touches the bandaid. 

“Daddy!” Eddie yelps, pulling his hand away, “Yucky!” He looks down at his licked palm, plastered with a licked bandaid. 

Richie’s blood runs ice cold. “Eddie...Eddie...god...I’m…” 

He winces and shuts his eyes, tilting his chin down to his lap. His breath speeds and scatters with each chokey inhale and shaky exhale. 

He wasn’t thinking. Just like when he was a little kid, he wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t thinking about how licking Eddie’s bandaid would just set off his fear of germs. 

Perhaps Richie never did stop acting like a little kid. Perhaps Richie never stopped being the Bandaid King. 

“Yucky, Daddy! Yucky!” Richie feels a hand shakily grip his shoulder. 

And now, Eddie will never start being one.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Did you catch all the Bill Hader references? ;)
> 
> Please leave me a comment letting me know what you thought, comments honestly make my day and help me write faster! Kudos are also appreciated!
> 
> The final chapter will be posted very soon! Be sure to tune back in for Chapter 3! 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr, where I chat and roleplay: @babybloowrites


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